


Ladies!

by KoreArabin



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (2020), Dracula (BBC), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Bondage, Candles, Dildos, F/M, Holy Water, Humiliation, M/M, PWP, Pegging, Prostate Milking, Razors, Shaving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:36:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KoreArabin/pseuds/KoreArabin
Summary: The altar candle is far too thick, surely, to fit inside him?
Relationships: Sister Agatha Van Helsing/Count Dracula
Comments: 12
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just pure pointless Dracula 🧛♂️ smut. Because.
> 
> Muahahaha!

He never imagined that it could end like this, their silly little encounter at the gates of the convent.

He had repeatedly asked them to invite him in, and they had steadfastly refused.

His momentary display of weakness over the knife and the blood - _well_. He could live with that. They still couldn't look at his cock, after all.

But Sister Agatha - he strives again, in his memory, to understand how she has achieved this. He's still naked, but not in the way he was planning for his scrummy nun-takedown-fest. He's on the floor, with his wrists bound in the small of his back, and a thick strap connecting the ring of the collar cinched tightly around his neck to the humbler locked down over his balls.

"Let me go, let me go this instant, you mad _bitch_."

Agatha smiles down at him, beatifically.

"I don't think so, Count. It's time to begin your training."

The altar candle is far too thick, surely, to fit inside him? Agatha considers his defenceless, upturned buttocks, and brandishes the aspergillum.

He begins to struggle in earnest as the first drops of water splash down on to the candle.

"Don't fret, _dog_ , this will ease its way."


	2. Chapter 2

"So, now, Count Dracula, you will listen to me very carefully."

He growls and snarls, squirming, his eyes blown completely black and red, his fangs prominent and gleaming. He is a prince, a warlord. He should not be humiliated in such a fashion, bound and helpless at the feet of a nun. Nuns - stupid, superstitious old women, flocking together and clucking their disapproval like a gaggle of drearily grey geese.

"Well, yes - I understand. The altar candle was very thick, I think? Perhaps too thick. But you had the holy water to ease its way?"

Dracula pulls angrily at his restraints. These pesky nuns or, rather - _nun_. She is becoming a royal pain in the arse.

Sister Agatha's foot taps.

He realises that it is probably better to say _something_ rather than nothing. Be a little penitent, probably. He takes a deep breath and schools his features, looking up at her bashfully (he hopes) from under his lashes.

"The holy water burned me, Sister. Inside. It _hurt_."

He is about to begin to break into a semblance of sniffles when Agatha leans down, searching his face.

"I am not so simple as you appear to think, Count, and not so easily fooled. I would so much prefer it if you would try to do better. But you are determined to be bad, yes?"

Agatha moves behind him and picks something up from the table. He yelps, in a most decidedly un-Count-like way, as something cool is dripped down over his upturned buttocks. When Agatha returns to his field of vision, she is holding a razor. 

"And so we will have to continue your training. Now, I will be shaving away the hairs around your anus and we will then, once you are shaved, be able to administer far more effective treatments to you."

Agatha smiles.

"This is a silver razor. You may have a reaction to it, but we have plenty of ice, if the swelling proves too severe. And I understand that the itch as the hair grows back will be rather unpleasant also."

Dracula closes his eyes and resignedly awaits the first scrape of the blade.


	3. Chapter 3

He has no idea how she does it. The anal shave, performed with relish by the infernal Sister Agatha, whilst he was held, restrained and helpless, rankles intensely. His arse is on fire, swollen and burning. She said she'd ice him down, but all she's done is left him writhing on the floor, trying to turn himself over so that he can rub his arse on the cold, rough-hewn flagstones of the convent floor.

"Do you want me to flip you, Count Dracula?"

The _if-there-was-a-God-I-would-fall-down-and-proclaim-and-sing-and-worship-at-his/her/its-feet/paws/trotters/whatever-even-though-I-don't-believe-there-is_ compulsion to escape his present predicament is very strong.

He growls, squirming. Eventually, he manages a word.

"Yes."

Agatha tuts.

"Still so very ill-mannered. Yes what, Count?"

Dracula snarls.

"Please."

Agatha shrugs.

"You see, not so difficult after all." 

Exhibiting a strength he would not have believed she possessed, Agatha heaves him over but, somehow, that small mercy, coupled with his inability to prevent himself debasing himself by grinding his fucking-itchy-beyond-measure-anus against the floor, is just as humiliating as what she's subjected him to so far.

His immediate instinct is to curse.

But Agatha surprises him.

"Oh, don't mind me. I have some work to do. You just go on and do whatever it is you have to do."

~~~

 _Well_. She appears to be as good as her word, sat at her desk, apparently poring over her work. Dracula takes the opportunity to have a quiet little private arse rub against the floor. It's so good. It's _sooooo_ good.

Just as he's nearly sated, he becomes aware that Agatha has been watching him.

"Count Dracula. So much writhing and snarling and panting! And you tried to convince me that you were not a mere beast."

Agatha rises from her desk, retrieving something from a drawer which she holds at her side, out of his sight. Placing one of her feet between his splayed thighs, far too close to his crotch for his liking, she suddenly brandishes the object and dangles it over him.

Dracula stares up at her, unable to make sense of the jumble of straps and - a - candle?

With a sudden perceptiveness which makes even the Count's bloodless cheeks colour, he realises what it is.

Agatha smiles her beatific smile down at him. 

"I know. I _know_. Normally, one would not expect a nun to possess such an item, and in normal times I would not. But these are not normal times."

What he had taken for a candle is in fact a very realistically rendered likeness of a human cock - a rather alarmingly large, heavily veined and curved likeness. 

His growls and snarls of anger are completely disregarded as Agatha effortlessly flips him over again on to his original arse up, knees and shoulders down position.

Agatha leans down and ruffles the dark hair curling at his nape.

"Don't worry, Count Dracula. Now we have more than the holy water to ease its way. Now we have ice cubes (lots of ice cubes), and then we have _chrism_."


	4. Chapter 4

After using the dildo on him rather too extensively, Agatha at least unlocked the humbler from his balls. Considering that he does not possess a pumping heart, Dracula had, at the sensation of blood rushing back into those tender bits, curled into a foetal position, cupping his bruised testicles and moaning quietly to himself. He'd have to ignore his throbbing arse for the time being.

The bloody nun was still banging on about something or other.

"This is such a novel and fascinating experience for me, Count! I did not anticipate that there would be such a prodigious sensation of authority and control in what is, in effect, a simple operation of biological imperative. We shall have to repeat the experiment, and so calibrate to minimise systematic error. Together, we can construct an accurate simulation of error propagation in analytical calibration methods and demonstrate how non-linearity, interferences, and random errors combine to influence a final result. Allow us to optimise precision and improve the accuracy of our measurements!"

Agatha beams down at him. "This is truly exciting! How wonderful for us to be able to utilise a beast such as yourself, Count, to carry out research into, and for the greater glory of, our dear Lord's most miraculous world!"

Dracula is about to tell her _exactly_ what he thinks about her bloody research, but the world suddenly reverts to darkness.

~~~

He's not entirely sure what's happened since then. That infernal bloody nun has managed, yet again, to achieve the unthinkable.

He vaguely remembers crawling, the stone floor uncomfortable against his 400 year old knees, his cock apparently swollen with arousal and slapping between his thighs. 

And he recalls her voice, that harsh accent, ordering him to stand against the thick stone pillar. Then, it's all hazy until now.

He's completely alone. There's something very thick and very long probing at his arsehole, and there appears to be no way of escaping it other than by teetering on his tiptoes. There's a rope collar tied loosely around his neck, and he can feel his wrists bound together behind the stone column. He can't move away from it and he doesn't have the height to lift himself upwards enough to undock from the rigid length pushing upwards into his arse. 

Dracula quivers, almost _en pointe_ , as he tries to accommodate the tensing in his calves. Despite his best efforts, he can feel himself sinking incrementally downwards, the rod greased with something incredibly oleaginous. He snarls and struggles, damning to eternity every entity he's ever encountered during his long Earthly sojourn, but nothing he can say will ever assuage this new humiliation.

The _infernal_ Sister Agatha is still at it.

"Count Dracula, we have a visitor for you."

He's almost too engrossed, too _angry_ , to look up. But then, there's another presence nearby, one that he's been determined to pursue. He raises his head, scenting the air keenly.

And then there's that deliciously seductive, cut glass English accent.

"So, Count Dracula. What a pretty pickle we find ourselves in."


End file.
